This post is one part photo essay of the Carrie furnace in Braddock, Pennsylvania; one part conversation about why the photos are important; and one part a story of how I came to be in Braddock and what ensued.
A month or two back my dear friend Lindsay posted some photos on the "book-of-face" giving her friends a look at the abandoned Carrie furnace along the Monongahela River in Braddock, Pennsylvania. I pretty much thought they were awesome. The furnace has been out of commission since the early 70s and is a symbol of the once prosperous steel industry and also their demise. Braddock has been in the news in past few years with their unconventional mayor and his hopeful goals to bring his town back from the depths of despair. You may have also seen flashy images of Braddock in Levi's latest advertising campaign using the town as a backdrop for hard work and sort of a phoenix rising from the ashes sort of metaphor. There are a lot of towns and even metropolises that are in a similar state as Braddock, and over the past few years of the economic recession their images have been splashed upon the news. Abandoned factories, homes, and neighborhoods have become hot spots for photographic explorers to adventure. Lindsay's photos filled my need to see the Carrie Furnace and were the beginning of a strange little adventure.
My girlfriend, Ashley, and I got a late start on Tuesday (Oct. 26) . We got into the Pittsburgh metro area around 12:30, and made a reasonably quick stop at IKEA (less than two hours is an amazing feat). After getting our fill of Swedish design and furniture with silly names we were on our way to Braddock.
With my phone's trusty GPS capabilities we were speeding on the edge of the city and the Monongahela. Unfortunately, I did not have a real address for the furnace, so once we got to the center of Braddock I was sort of blindly driving around. We did this for about 30 minutes before I just stopped in a rather shady neighborhood and made my phone tell us how to get to the furnace. It really tried. It got is to the Rankin Street Bridge, but it hadn't anticipated the inability to turn left before crossing the bridge due to the construction. Needless to say it rerouted the trip across the bridge, across another bridge, and back to 376, to do it all over again. It was now about 3:30pm, and we were getting rather frustrated.
Lindsay had provided us with a nice little map and instructions, but due to our GPS we weren't initially able to use them. So we tried to improvise off of Lindsay's instructions and found what we thought was direct access to the furnace by way of a baseball field parking lot and a short hike down a hillside. Fail. The hillside was more like a cliff down to the railroad bed. We lost another 30 minutes learning this. From here we just started finding anyway to get under the Rankin Street Bridge. To make this a shorter story, we finally figured it out after some hit and miss driving.
Upon our arrival under the bridge and in the neighborhood and industry that surrounded it we were faced with the warnings that Lindsay and others had mentioned. It was shady and a little scary, but it was a small price to pay for what we were about to see. Lindsay stated in her instructions we would need to park across from "the shady bar" and hike to the furnace along the tracks. Ashley was not keen on this, and it was getting late in the day, so we did some investigating and found that a construction company's staging area was our only obstacle to us driving directly back to the furnace. As we approached the company's gates a car came through toward us, and Ashley says to me: "Don't slow down, just act like you know what you're doing." I pushed through the gate past a few guys working and continued on past their trucks and construction trailers. You should also know we are not in a truck or a sizable vehicle. We are in Ashley's two-door Hyundai Accent which is lovingly called "The Egg". So, though I drove like I belonged there, bystanders would definitely know we did not.
Once you are past the construction company's staging area the road to the furnace is not necessarily a road, but more like a concrete tarmac overtaken by nature. I bobbed and weaved the tiny car around potholes, rutted concrete, and overgrowth. After just five minutes we were directly in front of the furnace and its hulking mass of rust and dilapidation. It was beautiful.
There were posted signs scattered around the fence that surrounded the structures, but it did not deter us from finding a way in. Lindsay's instructions stated there is a hole in the fence to the first major building. Lindsay there was hole, but you must remember I am a very large man. Thankfully, after walking the perimeter we found a sizable opening in the fence and made our way inside the first of two large halls. It was mesmerizing, in my opinion.
Lindsay and my photos, as thought provoking as they are, cannot provide you with the feeling that you get when you are inside these spaces. An old office chair sits stagnant in the middle of one towering space, while trees grow within another. Sunlight filters through stained windows and down through the holes in the roof. The floor of one hall is littered with what was once its roof and the remnants of others who used to sweat in the heat of the furnace and those who have come to explore just as Ashley and I have.
Rust and patina mix with the colors of vibrant graffiti and the green and golds of the grasses that have invaded the structures. Nature is reclaiming what was once its place along the river. There are massive steel tanks and winding pipes running here and there creating a maze. The catwalks above your head are like rusty lace and seem just as fragile. Everything seems to be in a state of fragility. You feel that if a decent gust of wind came through it would all topple down upon you. It is gorgeous.
Anyway, after we explored for about an hour and a half the wind really started to pick up and we could see a storm brewing to the north of the furnace. The wind was howling through the tanks and the catwalks kicking up dust and rust. It was like something was telling us to leave. It was like the ghosts of the furnace's past were telling us we did not belong. We took the hint. We ran across the yards and through the opening in the fence just as the rain came down upon us. We were laughing with joy and happiness to have seen such a piece of history and escaped the weather that could easily have brought it down.
It was 5:30 by the time we drove off from the furnace. We were rehashing what we saw and just how cool it was while I weaved across the tarmac through the downpour. As we got closer to the construction company, I began to get a sinking feeling. That sinking feeling became shear dread as we came to the gate we not two hours had driven through. It was closed and locked with four Master Locks. The job site was empty of any other life. Job trailers had lights on, but for security purposes only. Trucks and equipment sat empty and dark. The rain continued to fall, and Ashley is laughing. I was not. Would we have to spend the night in the aforementioned Egg? If so, how dead would Ashley's Mom make me?
After I slammed my hands and head against the steering wheel a few hundred times and said pretty much every four letter word available, Ashley continue to laugh about it. I calmed down enough to check every trailer and truck for contact information for the construction company. Who ever thought that putting your phone number on your company vehicle was a bad idea? This company thought it was. Thankfully I had signal with my phone and Internet capabilities. After some Googling, we were able to get a contact number. Of course no one was in their offices, but there were two emergency numbers, one for the construction company and one for their development company. The construction company number did not work, and all I could do was leave a message with the development side. All I can remember about the message that I left was that there was a lot of me saying that we were stupid and that we were very sorry. Ashley is still laughing.
Half an hour went by after leaving the message before someone called us back. His name was Joey and he was a very nice about the whole thing. We were not the first fools to do this. He stated he had to call around to find someone who could help us, but he wanted to let us know someone knew we were there. He called back 15 minutes later, sounding less hopeful.
Can you cut the lock off? Joey asks.
Uh...No. All I have is a camera and a really small car? I respond.
Just thought I would ask. I don't really work with the construction guys, so I am not sure who I need to contact. Let me call a few others and see what I can do. Joey states with a slight hesitation in his voice.
I say, Thanks with a slight amount of fear.
Joey did finally come through for us. About fifteen minutes later a guy with the construction side of the operation calls us to let us know that he is sending a guy down in about 15-20 minutes. He also proceeded to tell us that we are some very brave fools for being in that particular area of town at night. I tell him, Well at least we are locked behind the fence. He recommends as soon as his guy get there to get out as quickly as possible. Twenty-five minutes go buy and we see a guy ambling toward the gate with a lunch pail in his hand. I assume it is our savior, but I was surprised he walked to the site.
Carefully, I get out of the car and meet him at the gate. He is a rough looking guy with a few missing teeth, but a very friendly guy. He asks if we are safe and if we are doing well. He then proceeds to tell me how we can get out. He points to a yellow Ryder truck just behind the Egg. He states that there is a ramp that extends from the trucks bumper, and if I reach my hand in on top I will find the key to the lock. All this time, it was there. Ashley does not know what is going on as I run past her as she is sitting in the car. She was thinking, she tells me later, Son of a Bitch the fucking key was inside the truck all along. It was, but who would have ever thought to reach inside the bumper.
We were free. The rain started up again, as the gentleman swung the gate open for us. He tells us he rode down on the bus and that it was no big deal. We try to compensate him for his trouble, but he refuses. He just left us with a handshake, a wave, and wish for us to be safe. Needless to say after we pulled away from him, it made me really consider leaving the Northwest and join other dear friends like Lindsay and become a Pittsburghian (though I would never root for any of their beloved sports teams).
